Spelling Bee
by MM Vermelha
Summary: Why she had never won any spelling contest? She was great at it.


**Disclaimer/Spoilers****:** No spoilers, but I still don't own House. No matter how much I complain DS doesn't deserve the show anymore, it's not mine. Please don't sue, I already lost 2 pens this week and my origami papers are almost over.

**Author's Notes:** Beta-reader credits for athousandsmiles, spybarbie and 2tailswaggin. Thank you for all the patience, girls. You guys rock! I'm running out of things to promise as payment... how about an origami flower?

Written for the livejournal community **with-meaning**.

888.888

She stared blankly at the TV, while everybody else at the bar seemed concentrated.

It was one of those College championship finals that she never really understood the reason why it was so fascinating.

The Pitcher started to move, and suddenly she was lost in a loud crowd of noisy men groaning and cursing in unison.

She made a face at the loud noise echoing in her foggy mind.

What the hell was so interesting about a guy wearing funny clothes and throwing a little ball?

Ball.

Why do all sports require one? Or at least the ones most guys ever cared about.

It doesn't even sound good. Ball. B-A-L-L.

Heh, that's funny.

She felt a little dizzy, her face against the cold counter. Raising her head would be a good idea, she was sure of that, especially considering there was something wet against her forehead.

She frowned then, thinking of how sleazy this bar really was.

Oh, she knew another word to spell!

B-A-S-T-A-R-D. Bastard.

Dictionary definition: 1 a) Head of the PPTH Diagnostic Department b) Self-centered and obnoxious with no respect for others c) Jerk

That sounded right.

Today, he decided to be the "arbiter". Try making quotes with your fingers while saying it. It's catchy.

Arbiter. A-R-B-I-T-E-R. Arbiter.

Why had she never won any spelling contest? She was great at it.

Stupid words. Stupid House.

No, that's inaccurate. Bastard House. B-A-S-T-A-R-D. Bastard.

She finally raised her head and looked around her, noticing the bartenders had walked away.

At least there were two of them now, earlier there was only one bald guy.

The second one looked kind of blurry, though. She _really _should change her contacts.

Arbiter. One having the power of judging and determining, he said, as if they wouldn't understand without further explanation.

Using said powers of ruling the world, he determined there was no need to wait for her last exam before starting treatment. Two more hours and a six-year-old would still be alive. Two. T-W-O. Two.

Great arbiter. Strike one, strike two, and you're out! Great!

Oh, the bartenders were back. She was sure they would be more efficient at serving if they stopped walking together everywhere.

She focused her eyes on the less blurry one, then pointed to her glass.

"Can I have one more, please?" The words came out only a little slower than usual. She smiled, pleased, as if suddenly proud of herself.

The bartender looked doubtful, and she worked hard trying not to blink too many times.

Maybe faking sobriety was some sort of a gift. And while she had never been particularly good at it, her High School drama coach would certainly be proud of her acting skills.

She watched as the bald guys poured another glass together and walked away.

It was impossible to wrap her mind around why. Two hours later the tests were done and she had the answer. Why couldn't he ignore his god complex for once and wait? It wasn't a damn game. It couldn't be a damn game all the time.

Even later, when she was packing her things to leave, the great arbiter _had_ to exercise his judging powers and describe the remainder of her night.

Because Saint Cameron couldn't be pissed off, she had to be heartbroken and hurt. She had to spend the night eating ice cream while crying.

Saint Cameron doesn't drink after a really bad day.

Hell, Saint Cameron doesn't even like sex for the sake of sex. Oh, no, she only made love.

Yeah, right. Now, that was worth a snort.

She wondered what he would do if he learned how she'd lost her virginity. That she was actually the one who had initiated it. Or even that while she'd had a good number of partners, he was only the third guy she'd ever fallen for.

Lost in her own world, she never noticed yet another stupid guy sitting down next to her.

"Can I buy you a drink?"

Ken had a square jaw, a conceited smile on his lips, narrow nose and light brown hair partially covering his left eye. Regular Ken. Did this make her Barbie?

"Already have one," she answered with complete lack of interest, looking down at the bottom of her glass.

Ken decided then to show his under-developed brain and leaned in. He pulled her hair away from her face, letting his fingers rest there while his other hand made its way to her leg.

"Are you sure, Gorgeous? You seem so lonely over here..."

She moved her face way, pushing his other hand off her leg.

"I'm just peachy. Will you leave me alone?" She said raising her voice and making an attempt to get up.

"You heard her, scram."

_Please let it be someone with a similar voice, please._

She turned her head slowly and got the glimpse of a black cane touching the floor.

_Hell. _

House moved closer to the counter, taking the glass out of her hand and downed it in one swallow. Ken vanished faster than you could say clueless moron.

"Look at me, a real Prince Charming. Come on, Cinderella. Your AA meeting awaits you."

He put the glass down and looked at her.

"Leave me alone, House."

"Believe me, there is nothing I'd rather do than leave you alone. But if your body shows up by the river tomorrow, Wilson will blame me. You know how annoying he can be. Come on, get up and let's go. If you move fast enough, I'll be able to drop you off and get home for very late drinks in my comfy home."

She sighed and looked over the counter. Getting up would be bad.

She held onto the wooden surface and waited for the room to stop spinning. It took longer than she expected, but when it finally did, she moved her hand inside her purse and dropped some bills next to her glass.

With almost steady steps, she walked straight to the door without giving him time to follow.

Once outside, she moved closer to the busy street, hoping to hail a cab.

She heard his steps behind her.

"My car is over there." He pointed to the left.

"Great, good night then."

"Did you miss my convincing explanation about why I must make sure you get home alive?"

"I'll be fine, House. It's early and I'll get a cab."

She felt tired and her legs seemed to get heavier.

"I'm not leaving. And I'm certainly not getting inside a cab with you. Do you know how many maniacs drive around here? They love attacking poor cripples like me."

He grasped her by the arm, losing what little patience he had left.

"Who the hell do you think you are, House?" She pulled her arm back with more strength then needed, staring at him with anger fueling every fiber of her body.

"While I enjoy the metaphysics of the question, right now I'm tired and I wanna get home. The faster you start moving your little body, the sooner that will happen."

She looked at him, almost repulsed.

"I don't feel like being near you right now."

He took a step closer.

"You're mad at me because you didn't step up until the last hour? That's rich!"

She didn't flinch at his raised voice.

"You couldn't have waited _two more hour__s_? I told you I was running the test. You _knew_ I had a solid reason to believe I was right. I just needed two hours! Two damn hours!"

"He didn't have two hours! He'd have died anyway, because it was too late! It sucks, now _deal_ with it."

"_Deal_ with it? You didn't have to watch his parents faces. _You_ didn't have to tell them and watch them fall apart right in front your eyes!"

"Oh, poor little Cameron. It must hurt _so_ bad to be you!" He mocked her, making a pained expression and coddling his cane.

She grabbed hold of it and moved closer, keeping the cane between them while she looked straight in his eyes.

"You think I can't understand pain? Hell, House, you think that _choosing_ to live in misery is bad? Try watching someone you love deteriorate day after day and feeling so helpless, because all you can do is wait until it finally stops. Self-pity is so damn easy, so damn easy when you can control how much it hurts. Try caring about _anyone_, and maybe then we can see eye to eye about _hurting_."

She gave him one last look, and noticed the surprised expression he wore - not because of the words, but because they came from her.

Seeing a cab coming down the street, she signaled for it to pull over and got in before House had a chance to react.

888.888

It took him a whole week to answer.

Sitting on the park bench not far from where he had skate-boarded not so long ago, she stared at the clear sky, in no rush to get back to the hospital.

It wasn't long until she saw him waking towards her. She looked down at her watch, noticing that it had been three hours since she left for lunch.

Silently, he sat on the opposite end, dropping something between them. He pushed the box in her direction, before raising his eyes to her face.

"Pizza. Buying salad could damage my reputation."

She looked doubtful at the offending object, and he contorted his mouth, making a funny face.

"I'm trying to fix things so you'll stop avoiding looking at me. Will you just take the damn thing?"

She allowed herself to smile slightly.

"Thank you."

She made no attempt to apologize or take her words back.

He looked around them, before taking one of the slices.

"I care," he mumbled, taking an oversized bite and pretending nothing had been said.

She looked up, holding the slice of pizza in front of her mouth.

"I know."


End file.
